


i dream of you (do you dream of me, too?)

by hearthope



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthope/pseuds/hearthope
Summary: The second dream:There is a hand in Tetsurou's, nimble fingers laced with his, comfortable and familiar and warm as his heart beating out of tune in his chest.  When he wakes, he'll wonder if this is love, or cardiac arrest, or if maybe they're one and the same.But that's one of Morning Tetsurou's problems.This Tetsurou gets to feel safe.  Secure.Loved.The world of Kuroo's dreams is shrouded in a love he can't grasp.  He wishes for nothing more than to understand.





	i dream of you (do you dream of me, too?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankenstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenstein/gifts).



> [until this path ends,](https://youtu.be/atWBqO-S1Qc)  
>  will you hold my hands tight?  
>   
>   
>  this has been a long time coming,,pretty much since riley first told me about this concept. i very much hope i've done it justice

Tetsurou only ever has exactly and precisely two dreams.

  


In this dream, there are two doors. One is red, one is black. He does not open either. All he can do is sit, and wait.

  


* * *

  


The list of things Tetsurou can’t stand begins and ends with public transportation. It’s crammed and sweaty and loud, and he’s pretty sure something stuck itself onto the bottom of his shoe the second he stepped onto the subway, and he’s far too tired to feel like dealing with a single ounce of it. He leans against the metal pole he’s holding, trying not to knock into anyone beside him. He has that much common courtesy.

  


Oikawa does not.

  


“Everywhere, Tetsu! It burned a hole straight through my lab jacket.” Oikawa is one of those people who talks with his hands, grand gestures to match the cadence of his voice, the rise and fall of his tone. It’s a hazard to the general public. “Honestly, I don’t know who keeps letting him into our lab. He works on the other side of the _building,_ he has no business being anywhere near us. Just wants to flirt with the love of _my_ life.” He punctuates his rant with a huff, mouth turning down into a pout.

  


Two years he’s known Oikawa, and two years that Oikawa has gone on about this so-called love of his life. Tetsurou, for the longest time, couldn’t honestly tell if 1) this person existed, or 2) Oikawa was even dating him. It’s always sounded all platonic until he calls him shit like his _soulmate._ It took meeting Iwaizumi, decidedly _not_ any sort of lab technician, for Tetsurou to decide that whoever Oikawa kept referring to was just a friend. A very weirdly _close_ friend.

  


“Who’s the one opening the door for him?” Tetsurou asks. He shifts to the side to let people move towards the doors as they approach the next stop. “They’re the one you should be picking a fight with.”

  


Oikawa’s eyes narrow. _“Yahaba.”_ It’s not the usual nickname Oikawa throws around. Tetsurou doesn’t dig into _that_ at all.

  


Instead, he asks, “Are you going to need a new lab coat, then? Because if you’re ordering, I have some things to get.” Nothing in Tetsurou’s lab is exciting enough to result in actual damaged equipment, or nearly half the stories Oikawa is always coming home with, but things get worn down, in the same, slow, tired way everything happens in that lab. Rusted tongs, fogged up beakers, as weary as Tetsurou’s bones.

  


“Oh, just going to tack on to my order?” Oikawa’s voice lilts in a familiar, teasing way. “Put it all on my card, huh? You must really think they pay me the big bucks. Sure, sure, Tetsu, anything for sweet old you.”

  


“First of all, I’m younger than you.”

  


Oikawa waves a hand in dismissal. “Semantics.”

  


“Second of all, I’m not sure you know what _semantics_ means.” This earns a smile tinged with unheard laughter. “Thirdly, you know I’d pay you back, no need to be an ass about it.”

  


At this, Oikawa feigns a hurt expression. “Such crude words. This is why you’re single, you know.” He swings around, using the pole he’s been gripping the whole ride as support, and starts weaving towards the doors. “No manners with you!”

  


Tetsurou cracks a smile and starts following, careful to avoid knocking into anyone as much as he can. “Must’ve picked it up from you, after all this time, then.” He puts a hand on the top rail, keeping himself steady as the subway quickly slows. He can only laugh when Oikawa swats at his shoulder, mouthing off about what a liar he is, how _rude,_ seriously, _this is why I moved out._

  


He keeps the act up the whole way out of the subway station, but he’s exhausted himself by the time they’re making their way down the block, headed towards Tetsurou’s apartment.

  


_Tetsurou’s._ No longer _theirs._ What used to be a shared space, now solely his, after Oikawa moved out, to move in with Iwaizumi. It’s not terrible. Lonely, sometimes. But the rent is affordable with his job, now, and he doesn’t wake up at five in the morning to anyone belting out Red Velvet in the shower. So it isn’t terrible. Some days, Tetsurou would go so far as to say he likes it.

  


“All this whining you do is ugly, you know,” Tetsurou says, peering over at him, and immediately turning his gaze away when Oikawa shoots him a look.

  


“You’re ugly!” he says, knocking his shoulder into Tetsurou’s. “And I’m well within my rights. You know the life I live—“

  


“In more detail than I ever asked for, yes.”

  


“—and you know that it is _so much_ to deal with. And now I’ve got Terushima tacked onto all of it, and it’s just—!” Oikawa exhales, hard, like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Tetsurou knows the feeling well. “Whatever. Whatever! Are we ordering takeout or did you finally get your stove fixed so we can cook something decent?”

  


“Landlady’s sending someone to take care of it tomorrow,” Tetsurou says. “Lo mein?”

  


“You’re buying,” Oikawa tells him. “And I’ll order your stupid beakers. Call it even, or whatever.”

  


Tetsurou beams and swings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close even as Oikawa half-heartedly attempts to shove him off. “How _kind,_ Tooru-chan! How sweet of you to offer. Oh, I’m so grateful, so touched by your generosity. I have to make it up to you. Should I order some egg rolls as well? Would that suit your tastes?”

  


“Brat,” Oikawa mutters. He’s fighting a smile, though.

  


They sit on the floor of Tetsurou’s apartment, because Oikawa took their old couch and he hates the one Tetsurou got to take its place, even if it’s far more comfortable than the hardwood. The protest is simply for the dramatics.

  


“How’s your report going, with the snails, or whatever,” Oikawa asks, unfolding the takeout boxes and taking care not to spill any of it. Tetsurou pulls up a baking show on Netflix while he waits for him to be finished.

  


“It’s . . . you know.” He shrugs. Boring. A total waste of his time and years of education. “Moniwa’s rewriting the whole introduction again, which is really throwing my stuff off. Snails are cute, though. They’re in our lab for another week. You still haven’t come by to see them.”

  


“Because they’re disgusting!” Oikawa throws his hands up, and knocks against the open bottle of Pepsi next to his knee, and Tetsurou holds his breath as it teeters, only releasing it when it doesn’t tip over and spill all over. Oikawa doesn’t even seem to notice. Things that have a low impact on him personally, he rarely does. “They just— I mean, come _on,_ you have to admit it, they’re so slimy and creepy and _weird._ And tiny! How am I supposed to know if one breaks free and starts crawling up my leg! If it makes it all the way up, and crawls into my ear, it’s got control of my _brain,_ Tetsu. Your freaky snails are going to brainwash me.”

  


Tetsurou stops organizing dipping sauces long enough to give him a bemused look. “You need to tone it down with the X-Files, or whatever show it is you’re on now.”

  


“You need to keep an eye on your snails.”

  


“I do!” Tetsurou’s voice is laced with exasperation. “We check on them every hour, on the hour, they are _very_ closely monitored. Not to mention they’re in a sealed aquarium, without means of escape, because losing a snail throws off all of our data, and after all the time I’ve spent on this, I’m not starting over.”

  


“I don’t trust you,” Oikawa says, eyes sharpening into something suspicious. “You’ve been out to get me since day one and I know it. You’ve just been biding your time, waiting for the right time to strike.”

  


Tetsurou picks up his chopsticks and starts digging into their meal.

  


“Should I tell Iwa-chan to expect a call to come soon? I want you to leave him my coin collection, but nothing from New Zealand. New Zealand goes to Yahaba-kun. No, Yahaba-kun keeps letting Terushima in. Give New Zealand to Kou-chan.”

  


“Suga-chan would just pawn them off.”

  


Oikawa gasps, offended. “He would not! Unlike _some_ people—“ This is said with a pointed look towards Tetsurou, “—Kou-chan _respects_ me.”

  


“Last week, he took all the lemon cookies from your apartment when we were over feeding your fish, and would’ve forgotten to lock the door if I hadn’t been there,” Tetsurou says. He bites into an egg roll, eyes flickering to the TV. “Suga-chan doesn’t respect you for shit.”

  


Oikawa sputters, searching for any response and coming up empty, and Tetsurou feels perfectly satisfied.

  


He doesn’t stick around long past dinner. The only reason he still swings by Tetsurou’s after work half the week is because Iwaizumi practices late, so there’s no one to meet him at home for another few hours after they get off. Tetsurou thinks there’s another piece to it, that a part of Oikawa is worried for him, as if he doesn’t get out at all, or see other people, like Bokuto isn’t always coming around unannounced, or Sawamura doesn’t spring lunch plans on him every few weeks. But—

  


Tetsurou also knows his apartment is quiet, and empty, and lonely, when there’s no one else around. He can be perfectly content being by himself — personal space is a good thing, and so is time to refresh and think and meditate — but some nights, he craves what he doesn’t have, but all of his friends seem to. Oikawa, who gets to go home every night to Iwaizumi, and Bokuto, who still blows up his phone with texts about his dates with Akaashi, and Sawamura, who might as well have been married to Sugawara from birth, with how attached at the hip they’ve always been.

  


Tetsurou . . . has his cat. Oikawa’s fish, when he goes out of town. The snails in his and Moniwa’s lab. A lab that _kills_ him, that isn’t anything near what he intended when he started his first biology lab in his first year at university.

  


Maybe Oikawa’s a little justified in worrying. As Tetsurou cleans up the empty takeout boxes and discarded wrappers, and watches half a documentary on dogs that leads him to start thinking maybe he should adopt one, _could_ if he didn’t work so much, and is in bed before it’s even ten o’clock — he thinks maybe Oikawa’s a little justified.

  


There’s a weight on his shoulders that leaves him a little breathless some days. He’s been a little worried lately, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tetsurou only ever has exactly and precisely two dreams. One, he is faced with a choice he cannot make, doesn’t know how to make.

  


The second dream:

There is a hand in Tetsurou's, nimble fingers laced with his, comfortable and familiar and warm as his heart beating out of tune in his chest. When he wakes, he'll wonder if this is love, or cardiac arrest, or if maybe they're one and the same. But that's one of Morning Tetsurou's problems.

  


This Tetsurou, in a dreamscape, gets to feel safe. Secure. _Loved._ Here, there is another body pressed to his side, lips that curl into a soft smile, cool laughter and hands that push back the mess of his hair, easy as anything. He feels _known_ when a voice, softer than anything else that’s ever _ever_ been a part of Tetsurou’s life, murmurs jokes that are equal parts lame and hilarious.

  


He never remembers the finer details of this dream when he wakes. Only the vague remnants of the feelings, that leave him longing for more. There’s a lingering wondering and wanting, for whoever it is at the source of it all.

  


Above all else, Tetsurou _aches._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometimes he entertains the idea of quitting, but that’s a dangerous game. It took a lot of effort to get the job he has now, and there’s no way he can leave if he doesn’t have something else lined up at the ready, which would be hard to come by at this point in time, and so he’s stuck.

  


It’s not that he doesn’t like working in the biology lab. There are days when it’s interesting. The time they lost track of a whole crate of grasshoppers, or when they went to a conference in New York and heard all about squids. It’s just that. Well. He totally hates it, doesn’t he? There’s no field work. No excitement. Nothing like Oikawa, who’s always got some sort of trial going on, and whose research always includes a very large hands-on portion. It’s not the job of his dreams.

  


Maybe it was a little stupid, to ever expect it. Dreams aren’t reality, have never been reality, will never be reality. They exist as a subset of the imagination, take place in another dimension, on another plane of existence. They don’t become palpable in the way kids with stars in their eyes and hopes in their hearts imagine.

  


So Tetsurou stays, stagnant. Wishing for a way out, but knowing there is none, and it’s barely been two years, he should just stick with it, there’s always a way to move up or even laterally across if he just _waits._

  


He wakes up in the mornings, and depending on the dream, he feels either completely lost, or completely warm, and if he feels warm, it only takes a minute to remember that whatever caused it was a figment of his unconscious, and then he’s back to feeling lost.

  


“You’re being dramatic,” Oikawa tells him one morning, which is _rich,_ coming from him. “There’s plenty of opportunities for someone like you. You just don’t look hard enough. You could come to _my_ lab.”

  


Tetsurou sends him a sidelong glance. He adjusts his grip on the overhead subway bar. “Last week, you set your lab on fire.”

  


Oikawa struggles to pull a serious face, a laugh so clearly bubbling to the surface. “Not intentional, first of all, and secondly, it didn’t even do any serious damage. Yahaba-kun’s shirt might’ve come away a little crispy—“

  


“You realize how close it would’ve been to _Yahaba_ coming away a little crispy, don’t you?”

  


“But he didn’t! Honestly, Tetsu, our lab is perfectly well managed. And we _never_ have any snails.”

  


Tetsurou snorts. “Well, dealbreaker.”

  


Oikawa’s nose crinkles, a picture of pure disgust. Tetsurou really laughs this time.

  


The answers aren’t that obvious anyway, despite what Oikawa might have to say about it. For one, his team specializes in biochemistry, emphasis on chemistry, and as much as Tetsurou loves that, it’s not his field of focus. Not to mention there aren’t even any positions open there, unless he one day decides to actually kick Yahaba out for letting Terushima in to flirt. And on top of all that, it’s hard to make a decision on what actually might be available to him on any level . . . when he’s not even sure what he wants.

  


So it’s scary. He’s scared. There’s no safety net, if he takes a leap, which means he’s best off staying until there is one. _If_ there ever is one.

  


Worse thought. Worse thought.

  


_One day,_ he reminds himself, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. There will be, one day, somewhere safe for him to land and take root, and when that day comes, he will jump, and hopefully feel fulfilled at the end of it all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Red door. Black door. Lips brushing his ear, warm breath hitting his neck, security. Sometimes he ends up a fifth wheel with Oikawa and Iwaizumi and Bokuto and Akaashi. The world around him is settling.

  


Below him, the floor bottoms out.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Maybe you need to take up yoga, or something,” Bokuto suggests. “That’s supposed to help focus your mind! That’s what’s got you all wound up, right? You should take up yoga.”

  


Tetsurou furrows his brow and readjusts his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I don’t think I’d be a good fit for yoga, man. You need, like, balance and shit for that.” He picks a can of soup off the store shelf, reading the label. He can’t tell if there’s actual peas in this or not.

  


“So! You could get better at it. Practice makes perfect, you know?”

  


“I think I’ll pass on this one, thanks.” There are indeed peas. He puts the can back. “Hey, did you . . .” He shifts his weight to his other foot, takes his phone into his hand. “Did you talk to Akaashi, about the dream thing?” He hadn’t really wanted to bring any of this up, but it’s been weeks of the same two dreams, and honestly, there’s a part of it that’s annoying, and a part of it that’s concerning, but mostly, it’s just exhausting. He’s exhausted feeling like this every time he wakes up.

  


He can practically hear the shrug in Bokuto’s voice. “They said recurring dreams are a totally normal thing. And they _are,_ didn’t you ever have them as a kid? I’m pretty sure I had a bunch of dreams about the same rabbit, who was really _really_ cute at first, but then—“

  


Tetsurou frowns. He knows recurring dreams are a thing. He’d looked up plenty of articles before asking Bokuto to consult Akaashi, and stayed up until ungodly hours of the night reading journal after journal, trying to find anything even close to what he was experiencing. Recurring dreams are a thing, he knows this, but they’re not the same thing night after night with no interruption, relentless, like his subconscious wants to break itself, break Tetsurou’s entire mind with this aching _want._ He can’t catch a fucking break.

  


Barring the doors, because he doesn’t want to think about the fact that he knows deep down what’s inside them, he knows, objectively, that a relationship is something he’s wanted. He’ll admit that. But that’s— of course he does. He’s crossing the line towards the wrong side of his twenties, and only ever had small flings here and there, a handful of awkward first dates, numbers he’s never had the guts to dial. Everyone around him is starting to settle down now, though, and that’s a little terrifying. Bokuto and Oikawa, of all people, who he’s watched flip pancakes that get stuck on the ceiling, and try to microwave metal, and — the list goes on — of all people _they_ have settled down, found true love, and Tetsurou is still stuck.

  


“Hey, you still coming out for dinner with us tomorrow?” Bokuto asks, tying up whatever his dream always ended to be. “‘Kaashi’s cooking fish.”

  


Tetsurou paces down the next aisle, fingers grazing bottles of sauce and boxes of noodles. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. You want me to bring anything?”

  


“Nah, it’s cool, unless you feel like bringing Cation. Akaashi’s never met her!”

  


Tetsurou squints. “Akaashi’s allergic.”

  


“Fair. I gotta go, I think my bus is here. Tomorrow! Don’t be late!”

  


He hangs up before Tetsurou can actually say goodbye, and he pockets his phone. Maybe he should bring the dreams up to Oikawa. He hasn’t wanted to, because he knows there are only two outcomes to be found: either he’s got some wild conspiracy theory that he’ll go on about for a week, and that doesn’t help Tetsurou in the _slightest,_ or he’s going to be concerned. And concerned Oikawa is . . .

  


He shakes his head. He’s probably being way too narrow minded about the whole thing. He should just talk to OIkawa. Oikawa’s smart, and studied way more science than is actually in his field. He knows a thing or two about psychology. Tetsurou will ask Oikawa, and Oikawa will have a perfectly logical explanation for it. It’s fine.

  


For now, he has a date with his couch, Round Planet, and his cat, and he’s not about to trade that for anything.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dream:

  


A hand in his, a sunny sky, a bright laugh. He makes a joke he knows is lame, but lips still curl into an amused smile, and their hands swing between them, and this is the relationship he wants. Someone who looks at him with stars in his eyes, and settles in his chest, spreading warmth all the way through his fingertips.

  


A voice whispers his name. He murmurs one back.

  


In the morning, he doesn’t remember what it is. He never does. It didn’t bother him before, but it’s starting to. If he wants one thing, it’s _this._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Maybe it’s fate,” Bokuto says, jabbing his fork in Tetsurou’s direction to punctuate it. “The universe, like . . . sending you a _message._ Maybe it’s your soulmate.” He says it with this crooked grin so they all know he’s half joking. But only half. The other part of him definitely means it, because Bokuto’s that type of guy — a romantic to a fault.

  


“It’s probably stress-induced,” Akaashi says, the voice of reason, even though they started to smile just a touch at Bokuto’s _soulmate_ concept. “You should try taking up yoga or some meditation exercises, to clear your mind.”

  


Tetsurou wrinkles his nose. He’s not doing yoga. The two of them can push it all they want, but he’s not. Oikawa would probably try to join him.

  


_“I_ think you’re reading too much into it.” Oikawa leans across the table, arms folded for leverage. “You need to stop trying to overthink it. Take a day off work for once. Maybe try some, I don’t know, melatonin. Take a bath before bed. You’re wound way too tight.”

  


Tetsurou frowns and stabs at his salmon. Of all of them, he likes Bokuto’s words best. Fate’s the least realistic thing of all, and he could use a little fantasy to indulge in at this point. It’s driving him nuts now. A relationship is something he’s always thought about, but now he’s got a one-track mind going full steam ahead. It’s not just about _a_ relationship, it’s about a specific, unrealistic, imagined relationship that leaves his chest feeling like it’s caved in on itself. Love. That’s what he wants.

  


“I’ll lend you some of my bubble bath,” Oikawa offers, smile curling. “A bath would be even _better_ with someone to share it with,” he goes on, with a sly look towards Iwaizumi beside him, “but bubble baths are just as good.”

  


Tetsurou thanks him, and tries to at least consider the idea. It’s not like he can say he isn’t stressed, or that at least one of the dreams hasn’t been induced by it. But there’s a nagging feeling that’s beginning to tug at him that there’s more to it than that.

  


He hangs on it for another week. He takes a couple baths, looks up some yoga poses that have him falling on his ass in an instant and that he never tries again after, and doesn’t touch a single cup of coffee for three days. If anything, he winds up even more jittery than before.

  


He wants. He wants he wants he _wants_ and he knows none of it is ever going to come to him.

  


“Maybe it is fate,” he says, half joking, on the train home. But only half. The other part of him definitely means it, because Tetsurou’s becoming that kind of guy — exhausted to desperation. “Maybe the universe is trying to signal to me that this guy in my dreams is my soulmate, and any day now, I’m going to run into him on the street and the world’s gonna go all slow motion as we lock eyes.”

  


Oikawa gives him a look. _There’s_ the concern he’s been waiting for.

  


“No offense, Tetsu, but I think that sounds pretty stupid.” He adjusts his grip on the overhead bar so he can turn to properly face him. “Soulmates aren’t a thing. Except for mine. The love of my life.” He sighs all wistfully, and Tetsurou rolls his eyes.

  


“Does Iwaizumi know about this true love of yours?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

  


Oikawa scoffs. “Of course he does? They’ve met before. We get brunch together sometimes. _You_ should try joining us.”

  


“I’d rather hear you crush the last remaining bit of hope left in my soul,” Tetsurou says dryly.

  


“I’m just saying,” Oikawa shrugs. “Could do you some good to branch out a little. But, that’s beside the point.” He waves his hand through the air, as if the whole topic were smoke to be cleared from the atmosphere. “If you’re really following Bokkun’s whole soulmate idea, then I’ll pull you out of work _myself_ to make you get some actual rest. The snails can wait for another day.”

  


Tetsurou doesn’t tell him the snails have long since shipped off. “I’m not— I’m not being _serious._ I know it’s not fate. I’m just tired of it. You know what it’s like to wake up feeling so full of love for someone who doesn’t even exist? Imagine that — falling in love with someone you can’t have.”

  


“What drama are you living in?” Oikawa starts making his way to the doors. Tetsurou follows.

  


“Sadly, one that features you.”

  


“Excuse you!” Oikawa’s eyebrows draw together, pointed down, eyes flashing. _“You’re_ the feature. You’re the side character to _my_ starring role, thank you.”

  


Tetsurou snorts. “Maybe you’re the delusional one here. You should try to relax some, take up yoga. Want to borrow some bubble bath?”

  


Oikawa smacks him on the shoulder. “How dare you go around offering bubble bath that isn’t even _yours._ I’m taking it back. You can go and get your own.”

  


“Are you seriously offended that I’m offering you your own bubble bath?” Tetsurou follows him out onto the street, laughing, grabbing onto his wrist to keep him from stalking too far ahead. Dramatic, seriously. “Oh my god, Oikawa.”

  


“You should learn some manners. You better hope the universe has a soulmate waiting for you, because that’s the only way you’re ever finding love in the real world.”

  


Tetsurou offers a sloppy grin, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m touched. Truly, to my very core, your words mean the world to me. Iwaizumi’s so lucky to have someone as sweet as you.”

  


_“Pest.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Black door. Red door. He sits, waits. Somewhere along the line, a hand slips into his. His gaze does not waver from the doors, but the edges of the dream soften.

  


He wonders, some mornings — what if there never is a safety net? What if he were to take a leap anyway?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The mornings he wakes up in the middle of hands gracing his waist, another mouth sliding across his own, a supernova in his chest — those are the worst. Facing reality after those nights . . . That’s the worst.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Oikawa glances curiously at Tetsurou’s laptop screen, then turns the whole thing towards himself. Tetsurou doesn’t even try to stop him or to take it back, just lets him click through all the tabs and scroll down all the pages.

  


“Do you have a cats Instagram page bookmarked?”

  


It takes a moment to process the last question he was expecting, but then Tetsurou narrows his eyes, challenging. “And what of it?”

  


“Nothing, nothing. Cute.” Oikawa falls silent for another moment. “Are you looking at other jobs?”

  


Tetsurou shrugs, trying to play it off as casual, and takes his laptop back. “Kinda, yeah. I don’t know. I just want to have options, I guess. . . . Moniwa’s great and all, and the work we’re doing is important, but, well. You know I’m not really happy there.”

  


The expression on Oikawa’s face softens. He looks _proud_ and it’s disgusting.

  


“Shut up, I don’t even want to hear it.”

  


“I wasn’t saying anything!”

  


“You think loud enough that you don’t have to.” Tetsurou ducks his head and focuses back in on the job description on his screen. His heart is _racing._

  


“Whatever! I just think it’s good you’re taking a step in another direction. I . . .” Oikawa averts his gaze, finding anything else at all to look at, like there are any decorations left in Tetsurou’s apartment after he took them all to his and Iwaizumi’s place. “I’ve been worried, you know. And I just want you to be happy. So I’m glad you’re looking.”

  


Tetsurou’s chest constricts. He just wants _change._ Remaining stagnant isn’t helping anything, and maybe if he acts on something, anything at all, it’ll be enough of a push that the momentum will carry him out of these dreams and he’ll stop feeling so sluggish and awful in the mornings.

  


“I don’t know if I’ll get anything,” he says, trying to squash the hope in his own chest. Best not to get his expectations too high, so that whatever happens will still surpass them. “But . . . you know. Might as well try. Hopefully Moniwa won’t miss you too much.”

  


“Please. You just got a bunch of worms in, he’s got plenty of company. He’ll be just fine, Tetsu.”

  


Tetsurou hopes he’s going to be, too. No matter what he decides to do, leap or remain, he hopes he’ll come out of it okay. Even just mostly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He puts a handle on the black doorknob, and cracks it open. Just to peek. The world behind it is empty, desolate.

  


There’s a tug from the hand holding his. He opens the red door, then opens it wider. Starry eyes. Sunlight. Opens it wider.

  


The next week, he submits his letter of resignation. Has about two major anxiety attacks in the days following, but it’s been set in motion. Whatever happens now, happens. He’s in a free fall.

  


* * *

  


Tetsurou only ever has exactly and precisely one dream.

  


In this dream, he is shrouded in love, and wakes up feeling warm, all the way up until he doesn’t.

  


* * *

  


“While I’m glad and all that you’ve got one freak dream taken care of, I think you need to step out, take a break from things,” Oikawa says, dropping down on the couch beside Tetsurou. His knee knocks against his thigh, and his arm drapes across behind him. “You’ve been holed up in here for, like, three days. And I know you’ve been _doing things,_ but you could use some sunlight.”

  


“My curtains are wide open,” Tetsurou says, gesturing with a lazy arm. “And I’ve got plenty of windows in here. I’m pretty good on sunlight, actually.”

  


“Fresh air, then,” Oikawa tries. “We could sign up for some yoga—“

  


“Mention yoga again and you’re banned from this apartment.”

  


Oikawa huffs. Bokuto laughs.

  


“Pottery?” Bokuto suggests. “It’s messy, and fun. You should try pottery.”

  


“I thought you and Keiji-kun were asked not to return?” Oikawa sends him an amused smile past Tetsurou.

  


Bokuto at least has the courtesy to look sheepish. “Not pottery, then. Oh! Rock climbing. You’d be good at rock climbing, dude, you’re so stringy. Long limbs. I bet you could reach all the really tough spots.”

  


“Rock climbing!” Oikawa perks up, and turns fully towards Tetsurou, trying to garner his attention. “Tetsu, let’s go rock climbing. I’ve always wanted to. Iwaizumi loves that stuff, too, he’s always going to that bouldering gym. Tetsuuuuu.”

  


Tetsurou heaves a sigh and leans back against the back of the couch, gaze flickering between Bokuto and Oikawa. “If I agree to go rock climbing, will it shut you both up?”

  


Bokuto and Oikawa exchange grins, then both turn to Tetsurou, nodding. So he agrees.

  


“I’ve got a date with my soulmate Saturday morning,” Oikawa tells him as he’s leaving an hour later, “but then I’ll be there to meet with you two. Who knows, maybe I can convince him to tag along! Probably not, but you never know, after all!”

  


“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tetsurou says, trying to push him out the door. “No dates, though. Bros only event.”

  


“Aye aye.” Oikawa sends him a two-fingered salute and a wink before Tetsurou can get the door closed behind him.

  


Once he’s alone, he drops right into his bed, face first, full dramatics, because that’s just been his day. Bokuto had interrupted a perfectly good dream involving a whole lot of cuddling, and then Oikawa had given him this look when Tetsurou said he was still having the same stupid dream, and it was starting to drive him a little insane, especially considering he couldn’t even remember the _name._ He just wants—

  


He wants something concrete.

  


Starry eyes.

  


He groans into his pillow. He’s really losing it. Seriously.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He gets lunch with Bokuto before they meet with Oikawa. Mostly because Bokuto asks, and because he offers to pay since Tetsurou doesn’t actually start his new job until Monday, so funds are still tight.

  


They’re halfway to the bus stop they said they’d meet Oikawa at when Bokuto perks up, pointing. “Look! That must be—“

  


“The love of Oikawa’s life?” Tetsurou snorts, following his finger. Honestly, it’d help if Oikawa would have ever given them a _name._ It feels seriously weird referring to anyone that isn’t Iwaizumi like this.

  


Tetsurou squints, trying to get an actual look at the guy, who’s a full head shorter than Oikawa, and listening intently to Oikawa’s animated talking, appropriately dodging the wild gestures when they swing a little too close. He isn’t really familiar, is he, he doesn’t think, he doesn’t—

  


He stops, dead in his tracks, all the air leaving his body. He does know him. He _does._ In a sense, in a world, in some sort of other dimension. He knows him, knows the bleached tone of his hair, the amused twinkle in his eye, knows how it would feel if he were to twine their fingers together right now, in this exact moment, he _knows._ This. This is what cardiac arrest is. He knows it now. He knows it. He knows. He—

  


“Kuroo?” Bokuto’s stopped a few feet ahead of him, looking over his shoulder, puzzled as to why Tetsurou’s come to such a sudden stop.

  


“He . . . _Him.”_ He’s sweating. Maybe it’s a little overdramatic, but he thinks he’s well within his rights. “Bokuto, it’s him.”

  


For a face he’s never woken up able to remember, a name that’s been lost to his unconscious, there’s such a distinct feeling in Tetsurou’s gut. All of it hits him like a whirlwind, like a total sucker punch straight to the gut, and Jesus Christ, this is how he dies. Right here, on the spot, in front of someone he’s spent the last few months totally falling for outside of reality.

  


“Who?” Bokuto searches the street, eyes landing finally on Oikawa and Company. “Oikawa’s friend?”

  


They’ve come to a stop now, too, a few meters away. Oikawa’s shooting them both a confused look. His friend is looking directly at Tetsurou, the same _world has slowed down around him, maybe stopped entirely, might be moving backwards in time it’s hit the brakes so fast_ look on his face that Tetsurou is currently feeling.

  


“The one from my dreams, _Bo,_ it’s _him.”_

  


He feels a little weightless. The sun’s light feels a little brighter, the world a little more colorful, every sound a little louder. But everything dulls in comparison to the slow smile that starts to spread across familiar lips.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Kenma. His name is Kozume Kenma, and there will come a day Tetsurou admits that he’s in love with him. Has been in love with him for as long as he’s dreamt about him, because that’s how destiny works. It will take even longer to actually tell Kenma himself, but they’re both patient, and they each know how the other feels anyway, even if they don’t verbalize it. There are other ways to show the same affection.

  


But that’s in time. First, Tetsurou has to fumble through desperately asking for his number, and has to take him on a first date that goes horribly, is beyond painfully awkward, and that leaves one of his favorite sweaters stained with cherry soda, but that Kenma gives him another shot at. Would give him infinite shots at.

  


First, Tetsurou has to buy him flowers that Kenma says he never knows what to do with and that he always complains are taking over his apartment, but he’s not actually annoyed in the slightest, if the red-tipped ears and warm cheeks are anything to go by. He has to kiss him slow and sweet under dim street lights after walking him home in the way that becomes routine, until eventually home is the same place for them both, and Tetsurou still kisses him when they walk through the door.

  


First, Tetsurou will memorize the curve of his lips and of his spine, and the sound of his laugh when he thinks something is seriously, _seriously_ funny.

  


There are a lot of firsts before Tetsurou tells him he loves him, tucked together on their shared couch, listening to the familiar sounds of Animal Crossing on his DS, nothing he’d ever planned for but the exact right moment anyway. A lot of firsts, and a lot of time in between, but they have a lot of it. All the time in the world, for Tetsurou to love Kenma.)

**Author's Note:**

> i told you i would write you this. i told you  
> (i'm VERY sorry i didn't make your birthday or even close to it, but like ,,kuroken day is pretty much the same thing is it not is it not  
> i very sincerely hope that you liked this though ri !! you mean A Lot to me and i hope you know this)


End file.
